Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY
by notesofwimsey
Summary: The days between Christmas and Epiphany are a time for spiritual exploration. The NY Crime Lab team has things to learn: about each other, and about themselves. Danny Lindsay, Stella Flack, Mac Peyton
1. Chapter 1: First Day

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to and including to Season 4: "Child's Play." _

A/N: According to most established churches, the 'twelve days of Christmas' are actually the days between the birth of Jesus on December 25th and the arrival of the Magi on January 6th. Here is my take on those twelve days for the characters of _CSI:NY_, with a brief nod to some of the traditional church and cultural events that take place at that time.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the first day of Christmas: Dec 25

Christmas Midnight Mass

"_O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining!"_

The small boy's voice soared through the stone cathedral like larksong in the morning. Although the church was filled to capacity, no one made a sound as the beautiful carol wound its way through the sanctuary. When the choir joined in, the congregation was hard put not to simply follow its instructions.

"_Fall on your knees!"_

Don Flack Jr. sat at the back of the church, mouthing the words. It had been years since he had been able to hit those high notes, but when it had been him singing that solo, he had felt connected to something far bigger than himself, far bigger than even the church.

It had been years since he felt like that, too.

"Sorry I'm late, Don." A breath wafted across his cheek. Green eyes, apologetic and a little teasing.

He turned to smile at the woman who slipped in beside him on the already crowded pew. Grumbling a little, the rest of the people moved to make room for her, but even then Stella was pressed the length of Don's side, sitting a little forward on the pew so that she could fit between him and the armrest. The heat of her filled him, the press of her breast against his arm branding him.

He closed his eyes, the scent of her hair curling over his shoulder, wrapping around him, filling his senses. If he moved just a little, he could put his arm around her, and everyone would have an inch more space. But he didn't dare, trying instead to avoid invading her space.

Like peanuts, he thought, exhaustion washing over him. Take one, and the floodgates opened. There was no stopping after that. He was afraid to taste, in case even gorging would leave him empty.

She sat quietly beside him, sharing his hymnbook and breviary, making all the right responses. Of course, she was a Catholic girl too, raised by nuns and accustomed to the rhythms of the service. She had a nice voice, he noticed: a rich warm mezzo-soprano, a little breathy, which sent shivers down his spine. How pathetic was he, he thought, that he was getting turned on by someone singing "Joy to the World!"?

He'd really like to hear her singing the "Hallelujah Chorus." Preferably with his name gasped into the silences like a profane prayer.

He shut his eyes and shook and burned in his private hell.

"_Glories stream from Heaven afar. Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia. Christ the Saviour is born." _


	2. Chapter 2: Boxing Day

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: According to most established churches, the 'twelve days of Christmas' are actually the days between the birth of Jesus on December 25th and the arrival of the Magi on January 6th. Here is my take on those twelve days for the characters of _CSI:NY_, with a brief nod to some of the traditional church and cultural events that take place at that time.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the second day of Christmas Dec 26

Boxing Day

"Come on, Montana! Let's get going!" Danny Messer stood in the doorway, rubbing his hands.

Lindsay Monroe looked over and laughed in surprise. "Danny, what on earth do you have on your head?"

Danny glanced up and grinned, rocking back on his feet with a slight flush on his cheeks. "Sorry, Montana, it's tradition. Here's yours." From behind his back he pulled a green elf hat with a jingle bell on the end, and a sprig of mistletoe stuck into the hatband, matching the one attached to his Santa hat.

"How come I have to be an elf?" Lindsay groused, taking the hat and shoving it on her head.

Danny reached out and adjusted it, taking the opportunity to steal a quick kiss. "Because the guys are always Santa, and the girls are always elves. That's the way it is."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "You're telling me that Stella will be there in an elf hat? And Flack and Mac are both going to be in Santa hats?"

Danny's hand moved familiarly to the spot at the base of her spine to direct her out of the lab where he had finally found her. "Well, Flack will be there, yes, with bells on, seeing as his mother helps organize this whole NYPD at the Orphanage thing." He shook his head, setting his hat ringing, grinning again when she laughed.

He went on, "And Stella wears more than just an elf hat – she goes the whole nine yards. She grew up in this orphanage and knows how much it matters to the kids there. Mac usually begs off – he hasn't done much around Christmas for a long time now." His face darkened a little. "He usually works the Christmas shifts so people can be with their families."

Lindsay took his hand and squeezed it. Danny had volunteered to work the day before as well. She knew it was Midnight Mass he had been avoiding; he had not returned to church in the months since his little neighbour, Ruben, had been killed on their way back from having his bike blessed. She sighed. He still would not talk about it.

"Let's go, Messer. If you are really good, I'll sit on Santa's knee after the party and tell him what I want for Christmas."

They were in the elevator by now, and Danny pulled her close, kissing her again a little more seriously than he had in the lab where anyone could see them. "I'm sorry you couldn't go home for Christmas, Lindsay."

Lindsay shivered under his touch. "I am home for Christmas."


	3. Chapter 3 : Day of Revelation

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: According to most established churches, the 'twelve days of Christmas' are actually the days between the birth of Jesus on December 25th and the arrival of the Magi on January 6th. Here is my take on those twelve days for the characters of _CSI:NY_, with a brief nod to some of the traditional church and cultural events that take place at that time.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the third day of Christmas: Dec 27

The Day of St. John, the writer of the Book of Revelations

Mac Taylor sat in his office, staring at the phone. For months now, the phone had been an object of mingled interest and trepidation. He had waited for that call every morning at 3:33, and then it had stopped coming. Like a doodle-bug falling during the Blitz, silence was the warning to take cover.

But now the case was finished. He had gone back to Chicago and faced a few demons from his past: ones he had known all too well, and one whom he had never even thought of. Little Andrew Davis had never been on his radar.

He shivered. Davis could have been on more than his radar. If he had succeeded in killing one of Mac's team, he would have been one more stain of blood on Mac's hands.

He reached out a hand to the phone again, glancing at the clock. It was quarter after 3. He had just finished another shift, keeping the men and women with families on as few shifts as possible during the holidays.

It would be just after 8AM in London. Peyton would be drinking her tea, chatting with her parents. They had a beautiful home in the country, near a small village. Her father had been unwell for some time, so she would be able to help her mother. There was every reason for her to stay in England. It was her home.

He stared at the phone. He had not spoken to her since the _Dear John_ letter, as he found himself calling it, had arrived. At the airport, bag in hand, ready to get on a plane, he had turned around and walked back out into New York City. She was right, he thought. They couldn't live in each other's world, and trying to keep things going just seemed … exhausting.

He had written a stiff, polite letter, accepting her decision and wishing her well.

He sat back and stared at the phone again, brooding. COWARD. The words were blazoned on his eyeballs. COWARD, written by its absence on the wall in the Chicago Sun Building, thrown at him like a naked blade by both Jimmy and Andrew.

He had never asked to be a hero. He just did what he had to do. Sometimes, it worked – like with Flack after the explosion, like with the Irish mob and the cocaine. Sometimes it didn't – like in Beirut, when a young soldier pumped out the last beat of his heart all over Mac's hands. Or when he was 14 and could not pull a trigger, even to save a man's life.

He sat and stared at that damned phone. He could not reach out to the person who had brought him back from the edge, back from the life he had lived in the shadows since Claire's death.

He was tired of being a coward.

He reached for the phone, dialed the overseas number, and waited until the receiver was lifted on the other end.

"Peyton?"


	4. Chapter 4: Childmas

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: Originally I planned to make this a fluffy Christmas piece. Then _Child's Play _aired and the whole story took a turn. Bear with me.

The Feast of the Innocents commemorates the death of all Hebrew children under the age of two, after the Magi told King Herod the Great that a Jewish King had been born.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the fourth day of Christmas: Dec 28

Childmas (Feast of the Innocents)

"Danny? Danny!"

He turned with a sigh. He knew that she wanted to talk about it. But there was nothing to talk about. What was done was done, and now there were only the nightmares to deal with.

"Danny? You did a good job. You got him to confess. But …" Lindsay bit her lip, and put an hand on his arm.

He tried to smile down at her. He had lost it on the suspect, he knew that. If Flack hadn't been there, hadn't pulled him off … Danny shuddered at what he had felt like doing to the man who had confessed, with white face and shaking hands, to attempting to kill three innocent children, plowing them into a snowman with his Pontiac Torrent, just so that one of them wouldn't tell people about the tree-house filled with drugs and alcohol and a little visual stimulation.

God, he hated perverts.

"You saved them, Danny. He can't get them now. He can't hurt anyone again."

Her brown eyes were so full of worry. He wished she wouldn't worry about him; it was a burden nearly too great to bear. Suddenly impatient with the restraining hand, he snapped, "Do you think that makes it okay? That saving three makes up for the one I didn't save? The one that I put in danger? The one dead because of me?"

She stilled, and her face went white, but she did not drop her hand.

"No, I don't think that."

He dropped onto a bench, loathing himself, but unable to stop. "I'm not like you. I can't just shut things off like you do."

She flinched as if he had struck her, but instead of reaching out to her, he closed his eyes and put his head back against the wall.

She didn't say anything, just wrapped her arms around herself as she turned slightly away.

He rolled his head back and forth, and groaned softly. He opened his eyes and his heart broke to see her looking so small and lost. He spoke in a muted tone, "I just feel so guilty. Like it was all my fault."

She sat beside him, stared at the floor between her feet. "I know," she said softly.

"I close my eyes at night, and I see him riding off. I walk past his apartment, and I hear him laughing." He rubbed a hand over his face, and then the back of his neck.

She said again, "I know."

"Telling Rikki. Telling his mother. I thought I could handle anything, but telling a mother..."

Her eyes were tightly shut now, and her voice came out on a thread of pain. "I know."

Suddenly, he heard himself, heard those words echoing in his head over and over, and he felt them twist in his gut. How could he say that to her, of all people?

He knelt in front of her, trying to get her to look at him. He ran one hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face, and felt a pain shoot through him at the look in her eyes when she opened them.

"Lindsay, honey. Lindsay, I am sorry. I'm a bastard. I didn't mean … I wasn't comparing … Lindsay, I'm so sorry."

She sat forward and leaned against him, forehead to forehead, cupping her hands around his face. He could smell coffee, regret, and too many sleepless nights on her breath, and let his hands wander down to her hips as he took in her presence, breathed in and shared her anguish.

"I know," she whispered.


	5. Chapter 5: St Thomas Becket

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: _Thanks as always to all those reading this story!_

St. Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was assassinated in 1170 in the Cathedral at Canterbury, England.

King Henry II, who was arguing with Becket about certain rights and privileges of the king versus the church, is said to have exclaimed, "Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?" When two of his men at arms took this as an order, Henry was able to distance himself from the action, claiming he had not wished the priest's death.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the fifth day of Christmas: Dec 29

The Feast of St Thomas Becket

"Flack! You were supposed to come see me an hour ago!" Sinclair's broad face was tight with resentment for having been kept waiting by a junior member of his team.

"I'm sorry, sir. The perp ran. It was an ugly takedown." Flack stood at attention, his clothes stained and torn, his face grey with fatigue under the streaks of blood. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a cold beer, and a soft bed. Instead, he was on the carpet, and he didn't even know what for.

"Detective, when I ask for a meeting, I do not expect to be kept waiting."

"Understood, sir."

"Shit. Sit down, boy, before you fall down." The Chief poured cream into a clear mug, watching the cold liquid curl back up into the dark coffee.

"Sir." Flack managed to sit, he hoped without grimacing.

"Look, Flack, I need more than you have in here." Chief Sinclair flicked a finger dismissively at the file in front of him.

Flack's eyes followed the file as it slid across the desk, but made no move to pick it up. "Sorry, sir. That's all I have. And I have no expectation of finding any more."

"Not good enough."

"Look, sir," Flack leaned forward a little on his chair. One chance. That was all he had. "He's a good cop. His team trusts him. They deliver, nearly every time, more than most teams."

Sinclair spun his chair to face the window, his back to the young detective. "He's not a cop. Not really. Marine first – scientist second. Cop comes in a bad third place. He's a maverick."

"Sir," Flack quickly jumped in, "Juries expect the science. They trust the science, where, for all kinds of reasons, they don't trust cops." He stood, weariness seeping through his bones.

"Your father, Don …." Sinclair turned back to stare into Flack's eyes.

Flack stared back. "I'm my father's son, and proud of it. But I am not my father's cop. Old school doesn't cut it anymore."

"I want him gone," Sinclair muttered under his breath, spinning restlessly in his chair, an elastic band wrapped around his meaty fingers.

"Then you'll have to get him some other way. The file of my investigation is on your desk, dated, signed, and copied to at least four other people. In my professional opinion, Detective Mac Taylor has done nothing wrong, and has an exemplary service record. If I may be excused, sir?"

Sinclair gave a curt nod, and Flack left the office, closing the door with a second to spare. The glass hit and he could hear the splintered shards scatter across the office floor.

Flack grinned grimly to himself, "Temper, temper."


	6. Chapter 6: A Day of Rest

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: Thanks so much to all the people reading and reviewing this story – I can't tell you how much I appreciate the comments and support.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the sixth day of ChristmasDec 30

A day of rest

The knocking woke him out of a deep sleep, resounding through his dreams like the footsteps of a giant.

"Awright, awright, already!" he hissed as he shuffled to the door, vibrating with the thumps. He swung it open with a curse, and stepped back to let Danny in. "What the fuck, Messer? It's only …"

"Nearly 3 in the afternoon, Flack. Did I interrupt something?" Danny had his old smirk on his face, although even in his sleep-deprived mood, Flack could see it didn't reach his eyes.

"I wish. Naw – case went south after we booked the guy." He shuffled to the kitchen and started making coffee. "Found him dead in the cage when we went to interview him."

"Shit." Danny stared at his friend. "What the hell happened?"

Flack shrugged, "Over to Doc Hammerback."

"Where was the guard?" Danny was worrying at it now, terrier nosing the scent.

"Taking a crap, probably, not that he's admitted it. Just let it go for a minute, would you, Danno?" Flack's bruised face was turned away, but Danny could see the slump in his shoulders.

"Yeah. Yeah – sorry. I'll be dealing with it soon enough, I guess. So you ready to go?"

"Do I look ready to go? Go where?" Flack poured two coffees, taking his black and sniffing the milk from his fridge before shoving it across the counter towards Danny.

"The game? The Knicks? Montana gave me tickets for Christmas?" Flack was in a bad way, Danny thought. He'd been more excited about that gift than Danny had been.

Of course, he hadn't been allowed to unwrap the present the way Danny had, with teeth and tongue and lips. Danny shivered at the memory.

"Messer, shouldn't you be taking your lady to this game?"

Danny was shaking his head before the words were completely formed. "She told me to ask you."

Flack looked up. There was a shadow there: something Messer wasn't saying. "You guys okay?"

"Look, Flack, if you don't want to go, I'll call Adam or the doc." Danny looked into his coffee.

"What's up, Danny?"

That voice. Danny knew that voice. He hated being interrogated by his best friend. But he had to admit that talking to Flack was one reason he had shown up at the apartment nearly four hours early.

"I'm an asshole," he admitted in a quiet voice.

"So, what else's new?" Flack gave a tight grin, and when Danny didn't respond, he said, "You want I should start guessing? You slept with someone else?"

"Jeez, Flack – nice to know what you think of me," Danny said in disgust, glancing up.

"Okay, not that. You didn't buy her a gift for Christmas?" Flack knew that wasn't true; he'd been forced through a torturous hour in a jewelry store while Danny fretted about whether a necklace or a bracelet said enough, without saying all that a ring would imply.

Danny stared back into his coffee. "I said something."

This time Flack stayed silent. He knew his Danny: the guy would not be able to stay silent.

"I asked her if saving three kids made up for the one I hadn't been able to save." The admission leaked out of Danny like blood from a wound.

"Shit, Messer." Flack's voice sliced through the room.

Danny hunched as if waiting for a blow.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing much. She said she understood. I guess."

"You apologized?"

Danny glared again, "Of course I did! God, Flack – with friends like you…"

Flack said, a hint of bewilderment in his face, "She forgive you?" When Danny nodded, he shrugged, "So what's the problem?"

Danny dropped his head into his hands, running them through his hair in frustration, "I hurt her. Isn't that enough?"

Flack nodded, walking into his bedroom to get changed. "You told her yet?"

"Told her what?"

"That you're in love with her." He disappeared, grinning at the sight of Danny's stunned white face.


	7. Chapter 7: New Year's Eve

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, and following this story. I really appreciate all the support. We are half way through!

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the seventh day of Christmas: Dec 31

New Year's Eve

New York City. New Year's Eve. Two hours until the ball dropped in Times Square and the city was pulsing with excitement. Strangers smiled at each other, offering best wishes for the season, a little more open, a little friendlier than usual.

Lindsay Monroe stood on the corner, stamping her feet and blowing on her fingers to try and keep warm. Even the sub-zero temperatures hadn't kept the crowds in their nice, warm apartments, she thought, bemused. She couldn't quite get used to the way New Yorkers played in the streets of their city.

"Montana."

The nickname sent a curl of warmth to her heart, and she closed her eyes against it quickly before turning to greet her partner. "Over here. Two bodies: one looks to be a street person. The clothes, the shopping cart. This may be the place he was sleeping – no one is talking so far. The other one is better dressed…" She continued talking, laying out the scene for Flack and Danny as they ducked under the crime scene tape and began to process.

"You were on scene early, Linds," Flack commented as he took notes.

"I was here. Waiting for the ball to drop." She shrugged a little uncomfortably as the two men looked at her in surprise. Flack had a little smirk on his face, but Danny just looked blank. "What? This is the first year I've been in the city for New Year's. I thought I'd like to see it, you know? Times Square in New York City? But I was on call, so I caught the scene."

Danny opened his mouth to say something, but Flack stepped over to one body and said, "Hey, Messer? What do you think of this?" They all turned their attention to the scene and began gathering the evidence that would tell them what had happened between two men in the street on one of the busiest days of the year in New York.

Lindsay was so busy, she didn't even notice the passing of time. As always, the search, the chase, caught her up in its path, and she was completely focused on the tasks at hand. So much so, in fact that she was startled when Danny came up behind her and grabbed her hand.

"Hey, Montana. Come here a minute."

"What is it, Danny? We have to finish processing …" The words were left behind her as Danny pulled her into the crowd now gathered in the Square, swaying as it sang along with Velvet Revolver.

He stopped in the middle of the crowd, at a point where they had a good view of the ball.

It was 11:58 PM.

He turned to face Lindsay, pulling her in his arms.

"I guess you think it was pretty stupid, wanting to be here? Such a touristy thing to do." Lindsay looked down at her hand flattened against his chest, her finger idly tracing the NYPD crest on his jacket.

"No, I don't think it's stupid. I wish I'd thought of it. I wish I'd planned something for you. I wish … Lindsay, I wish I was better at this. I wish I was better at all of this." He gestured as well as he could in the press of the crowd around him.

It was 11:58:30.

"What do you mean? You are good at this." She looked up into blue eyes, trying to read in them what she needed to know.

He leaned his forehead against hers, and blew out a sigh, "No. No, I'm not. I've never done this before, you know? Never tried so hard not to screw up."

She cupped his face in her hands. "It's me that's no good at this. I want to be there for you, but I don't always know how to. I don't always know what to say or do."

It was 11:59, and the ball began to drop. The crowd was screaming and cheering.

His breath was coming a little ragged now, and he pulled her tighter, his mouth hovering over hers. "Lindsay Monroe …"

It was 11:59:30 and she could barely hear him for the noise as the crowd prepared for the countdown.

"I love you."

"10, 9, 8 …" the crowd was shouting out the numbers.

"What did you say?"

"6, 5, 4 …"

"Lindsay, I love you." He said it a little louder, and found it a little easier to say.

"3, 2, 1… Happy New Year!" The crowd went wild, kissing and crying and celebrating wildly.

"I didn't hear you, Danny." Lindsay started to say something else, but Danny took her mouth with his and poured everything he was feeling into that moment. She felt as if she had been bathed in fire, and opened her mouth to him eagerly.

When they finally were pushed apart slightly by the force of bodies against them, her eyes reflected the fireworks in the sky, and he smiled down at her, holding her against him as if she was the most precious thing in his life.

Flack was looking through the crowd, trying to find his two crime scene investigators, when a hoot of appreciation ran through the crowd he was currently pushing through. When he glanced up at the huge screen recording scenes from the crowd, a grin broke over his face. There were his missing detectives, NYPD CSI emblazoned across their jackets, wrapped in each other's arms for the whole world to see: for the whole world to read the young man's lips as he repeated those words one more time, to cheer as the young woman threw herself against him, joy bubbling out of her. The whole world stood witness to that one moment that changed everything.

Danny Messer never did anything by halves.


	8. Chapter 8: New Year's Day

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: I'm putting this up a little early, because I plan to be eating incredible amounts of food and playing with my family for the next several hours! Happy New Year to all my readers, reviewers, and the many friends I have found in this fandom.

May the first person who crosses your threshold in 2008 be a dark, handsome man (and if he looks a little like Flack, well, send him my way!)

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the eighth day of Christmas: Jan 1

Circumcision and Naming of Jesus

Lindsay woke up with the feeling that someone was watching her. When she finally pried her eyes open enough to see past the blur and glare of the morning sun, she could see Danny staring down at her, his hand idly running through her hair.

She grinned at him sleepily, a little surprised when he didn't smile back. Usually when she spent the night, she woke to find him ready to go, in one sense of the word or the other. Danny was rarely still; lying in bed holding her didn't really fit his energetic personality.

"You okay, Dan?"

He nodded, brushing a kiss over her temple, his hand still moving through her short hair, mussed and tangled from sleep.

She turned slightly so she could look at him more easily. "Something's up," she said confidently, "And surprisingly, it's not you." She nudged him with her hip, hoping to force a smile, but the twitch of his lips didn't make it to his eyes. She reached up to smooth her hand over his face. "Okay, that's it. What is going on?"

Danny sat up, moving a little so that he could face her. "What is - this," he indicated the two of them, "This – thing we have? What is it?"

Lindsay sat up in turn, her hand clutching the duvet over her breasts, her insides clenching in trepidation. "What do you mean?"

"When you think of – us," his hand moved again, pointing first at her, then at himself, "What do you … call it?'

Lindsay frowned and blinked. "It's a little early in the morning for guessing games, don't you think, Messer?" The weak winter sun was just rising – they had been in bed less than four hours since closing out the scene in Times Square. Stella had sent them home once the scene was released to grab some sleep before beginning the processing job that stretched out before them. They had ended up in her apartment

Danny did not take his eyes from hers, squinting at her a little myopically without his glasses. "Come on. Girls are into this sort of stuff, aren't they? Naming, identifying, quantifying?"

Lindsay blew out a sharp irritated breath. "First of all, I am not a girl. Second, I don't call it anything. It's just … I don't know … us."

Danny looked down at his hands, pleating a piece of the cover in his fingers restlessly. "What does that mean?"

Lindsay looked at him, at the frustration on his face, and something inside her curled up, waiting for the blow. "Why do you need it quantified, Danny? What do you want to call it? Our relationship, I mean."

He shrugged, uneasy but forging ahead. "There, you see? You called it a relationship."

She nodded, "Yes, that's generally what a connection between two people is called. We have our work relationship, and this one."

He looked up, "So, you think of us, and you think of work. But they are two separate things."

Lindsay grabbed his hand, "Danny, _what_ are you trying to say? Do you not want a relationship? Is that it?"

He reared back, startled, "No! God, no, Linds. Of course, I do. Want a relationship, I mean. With you. I just… I just… want to know what to call it, that's all."

Lindsay relaxed a little. At least he wasn't talking his way out of her bed. Not yet, anyway. But she tiptoed around the word still, afraid of scaring him. "Well, then, let's call this a relationship and leave it at that."

Danny shook his head stubbornly. "That's not enough."

"Why not?" she asked, confused.

Danny turned her hand in his, staring down into it as if he could read her future in her palm. "Look, Linds, I've had girlfriends. You know? In the past. Not many of them lasted very long, but I called them my 'girlfriend', when people asked. I introduced them as my 'girlfriend' when I met people."

Lindsay nodded when he glanced up at her, but didn't say anything. Truth be told, she had no idea what to say.

"It's not enough. You know? To call you my girlfriend. It isn't big enough. But partner sounds like work and lover just sounds … I don't know …. weird. And I just need to have this straight … I just need to know … what we are."

Her smile warmed him in ways the sun now reaching in through the window never could as she reached out her arms to pull him close, kissing the worried frown off his face. "Us? We're Messer and Montana. That's it. Just that. And it's enough."


	9. Chapter 9: St Basil's Day

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: St Basil is a saint in the Orthodox Churches, beloved for his care for the poor and for children; he established orphanages and hospitals, as well as designing many of the monastic rules. The traditions as performed by Stella are followed in many Greek homes around the world.

Thanks to all who are sticking with this story: there are four days left!

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the ninth day of ChristmasJan 2

St Basil's Day (a little late)

"Hey, Flack! You're just in time!" Danny said as Flack walked into the break room. Everyone else seemed to be there as well, Flack noticed: Hawkes was in the corner with Sid Hammerback, Lindsay and Adam were sitting at the table, even Mac was standing leaning against the counter, watching Stella busy over by the sink.

Flack looked around a little suspiciously. It was unusual, to say the least, to see any members of the team sitting taking things easy.

He hadn't said a word to Danny about the scene on the big screen. He figured the video clip currently winging its way around the world courtesy of youtube really spoke for itself. He was just waiting for the first person to break the news – his money was on Adam.

"What are you all up to? I have a case…" he started, only to be howled down by everyone in the room.

"No shop-talk for," Mac checked his watch, "Another fifteen minutes, Don. We are on a break."

Flack's eyebrows shot up. Taylor taking a break? What could have provoked such an earth-shattering event, he wondered.

Jut then Stella turned around, a large plate in her hands. On the plate reposed a large flat cake decorated with almonds, otherwise looking a lot like the shortbread Flack's Irish grandmother made religiously every Christmas. Stella put it down on the table in front of Lindsay beside a large knife and a glass tumbler.

"Ya' hungry, Flack?" Danny said flippantly.

"I could eat," Flack answered, watching Stella move across the room. _Starving_, he wanted to say.

Stella looked around with a smile and explained, "This is a St Basil's Cake -_Vassilopitta_. I made it last night. It should have been eaten before midnight, but …" She shrugged. She didn't really need to spell out that she hadn't had anyone to share it with until she came to work. Most of them were in the same predicament.

Lindsay said lightly, "Did you bake it wearing your best clothes and your jewels, Stel?" When the men looked at her in varying degrees of disbelief, she said, "What? I research."

Stella laughed as she placed the glass over the centre of the cake and pushed it down slowly and steadily. "Well, I was wearing a gold necklace and my Jimmy Choos. I think that counts as a show of wealth." She and Lindsay shared a look of perfect understanding. Stella twisted the glass and pulled it up, leaving a circular piece of the cake standing alone. "There. That piece is for St Basil, a saint of the Greek Orthodox Church." She cut a new slice and handed it to Mac. "I have to serve it in order of age," she said serenely to Danny, who was holding out his plate expectantly. Quickly, she served out all the pieces. Led by Mac, they had all waited until everyone had a piece.

"Just a minute!" She stopped Danny, whose fork was heading towards the piece on his plate. "There is a coin in one piece. Whoever finds it will have a lucky year."

"My grandmother does the same thing with Christmas cake," Lindsay said. "A button for a bachelor, a thimble for the old maid …"

"A ring for the first to get married," Adam chimed in, then blushed to the roots of his red hair.

Hammerback said, "My grandmother used to put coins in our birthday cakes. One year she forgot to wrap them, and we all ended up in the ER."

As Hammerback's story wandered into realms no one really wanted to think about, Flack looked around the table. Every one here deserved a little good luck this year, he thought. Hawkes with his brush with a madman and the wrong side of a prison cell; Adam with the marks of cigarette burns still marring the backs of his pale freckled hands; Stella with her scare over possible HIV infection, then being stalked in a cruel game of cat and mouse with Mac; Mac himself, with Peyton gone and the ghosts of youthful mistakes rising to trip him up even now.

And Danny and Lindsay. So many moments when things had gone wrong over the past year. No matter all the things that had gone right, Flack thought, those terrible memories had burned tiny holes into all their souls.

Thinking of Stella dressed in Jimmy Choos and gold and not very much more, he bit down on a piece of cake, not paying much attention to what he was doing. The fillings in his teeth set up a jangling, painful burr and he swore as he reached in and pulled out a small foil packet. "What the hell?"

He swallowed hard as he looked up at Stella, his face twisted quizzically.

Lindsay laughed, and said, "Flack! It's his turn for a year of good luck. About time too, I'd say." Her eyes were warm as she sought his out. Flack wondered at the affectionate concern he saw there, but he didn't have much time to think about before everyone was gathered around looking at the coin he had pulled out of its foil shroud.

He looked at it closely. It was golden in colour, but not in weight, and had a sun sign with 100 printed under it. Around the edge were Greek letters. He looked up at Stella again. She blushed a little at his gaze.

"It's a 100 drachmae coin," she explained. "Nickel and brass. They've gone to the Euro now, of course, so there aren't that many left."

"You should keep this then," he said quickly, holding it out to her.

She closed his hand over the coin, holding it a moment longer than strictly necessary, before dropping his hand and blushing even more.

"Don't be silly. You deserve to get lucky." She smiled and began to clear away the dishes, thanking Hawkes as he leapt up to help her.

Flack stared at the little coin in his hand. 'Unlucky in cards, lucky in love,' his grandfather used to say to explain away his gambling habit: money dripped through his fingers at the card table while he stayed married to the same woman for nearly forty years.

"Wonder if luck in cake means the same thing?"


	10. Chapter 10: A'Soaling

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: There is surprisingly little action on the 10th day of Christmas, so I decided this would be a good day for a song. The one I chose is "A'Soaling" popularized by folk singers Peter, Paul, and Mary. It is the type of song mummers would sing outside the door at the New Year (Samhain or Hallowe'en in Celtic cultures), begging for a bit of food or some money.

Thanks so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing this story; I really love all the response.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the tenth day of Christmas: Jan 3

_Soal, a'soal, a'soal cake, please good missus a soal cake._

_An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, _

_Any good thing to make us all merry._

Cozy's was full, with people doubled up at tables and sharing booths with strangers. Mellow jazz poured from the stage like mead: heady and sweet.

Stella was sitting in a corner reserved for friends of the band. She had been coming most Wednesday nights since Lindsay had 'outed' Mac's hobby nearly two years earlier, often just coming for one set before or after shift. The night Mac received the letter Peyton had sent explaining her decision not to return to New York, Stella had shown up at the bar and closed it out with Mac and the band, refusing to leave him until she was sure he was on his feet.

Mac was different when he played, she thought, watching him with her chin on her hand. Smiles came more easily; that connection he forged with his band seemed more effortless. It was a simple thing – that creation of music. People played their own instruments, told their own stories in their melodies, put their own feelings out for other people to feel. And yet, when several people did that together, they made something that was truly bigger than itself. They made something so unique it could never be replicated, no matter how many times that melody, even that arrangement, was played.

Her mind wandered, as it so often did, to the team members. Danny and Lindsay had never had an easy time of it, she thought. First Lindsay's history, then Danny's disaster-ridden present, had stood in the way of them simply being together. She had talked to Lindsay, a little carefully, earlier that morning, after Adam had emailed her the youtube link. Lindsay had, as always, kept her own counsel, but Stella had sensed a steely determination in the younger woman: Lindsay was not going to give up easily.

Mac came and joined her when the set was done, and they talked casually of work and holiday plans while he drank his soda water. Nothing but water while he was playing; one small Scotch at the end of the night. Order and consistency in nearly everything he did.

"Did you manage to get some time with Reed this holiday?" Stella twirled her glass around restlessly.

Mac's face lit up at the mention of Claire's son, the child she had given up as a teenager and never had the chance to meet. "We had lunch on Boxing Day," he said quietly. "He gave me this." He pulled his wallet out and showed Stella a picture of Reed wearing his high school graduation robes. "He's promised to replace it when he finishes university."

Stella nodded, admiring the picture. "He does look like Claire. Did you have something for him?"

Mac nodded a little self-consciously, "I had a photo of Claire when she was about the same age, pregnant with him. I got it from her parents. I had an artist turn it into a sketch."

Stella could feel tears gathering at the thought. "Did he like it?"

Mac shrugged, "I guess so. I didn't watch him open it. He called later to say thank you." He didn't give Stella any details – some emotional scenes were too painfully private even for this friend to share in.

"And – Peyton? Did you talk?" Stella knew she was pushing, but Mac so rarely volunteered anything.

He frowned into his glass, and then finished off what was left in one swift shot. "Yeah.

She said she misses me."

"That's good. Isn't it?" Stella was watching him carefully, a little surprised when he signaled the server for another drink, and asked for Scotch this time.

"Yes." He didn't say anything for a while, then glanced up at her. "Yes, it's good. But she wouldn't … discuss anything. Work anything out. She only had a few minutes to talk – she was on her way to court."

"Court? She's working?"

"Consulting work for the regional police force. She was giving expert testimony." He didn't say anything else. They both knew a medical examiner with Peyton's expertise would have no trouble working in any field.

The other band members were beginning to re-settle on the stage, and Mac knocked back his drink. "You sticking around?"

Stella nodded, "Christmas music in a minor key suits me tonight. I'll be here when you're done."

He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek. "You're a good friend, you know that, don't you?"

"Everybody's best friend or big sister, that's me," she said lightly, waiting until he was back on stage to take a quick sip of her drink, trying to wash the bitterness out of her mouth.


	11. Chapter 11: Ghost of Christmas Present

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: Thanks so much all the people enjoying the story! I hope it lives up to expectations.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the eleventh day of Christmas: Jan 4

The Ghost of Christmas Present

"Shots fired! Officer down! Shots fired!" The voice barked into Flack's earpiece. He could hear another shot – an officer's gun, from the proximity – and then a scream. He was already moving, gun held low, before he heard, "Officer down! We need a 'bus here!"

He didn't know how this could have gone so wrong. It was simple enough: searching a building for a suspect in a hit and run and a girlfriend suspected of harbouring the driver. Stella had talked to her, and had sent Flack to the roof in search of the boy who liked to sit up there when things went wrong.

Well, things couldn't have gone much more wrong than this, Flack thought grimly as he raced down the stairs, barking orders and questions indiscriminately into the comm. unit on his wrist.

"What the fuck happened, Andale?" He was moving so fast the uniform who met him at the door wasn't able to get a word out before Flack was on his knees in the pool of blood on the living room floor, his face white and his arms around Stella Bonasera.

"I'm okay. I'm okay, Flack – it's a flesh wound. Scalp – you know they bleed like nobody's business." Her eyes were a little glazed, but her hand on his shoulder was reasonably steady.

Unlike the beating of his heart, which was rapid and erratic.

"Shit. Shit, Stella. Hold still." He grabbed the towel the young uniformed officer was holding out to him and firmly pressed it against the blood pouring from her temple. An inch. One inch either way. The difference between luck and death.

"I'm okay. Don. Don! I'm okay." Her hand was wrapped around his wrist now, wrapped around his pulse beating a ragged tattoo. "The girlfriend. She told me she was going to get her coat and come down to the station, and she just came out of the bedroom with a gun and shot at me. She was shaking so hard I can't believe she hit me." She pulled on Flack to help her up, but he stubbornly refused to move.

"Stay still, damn it. The EMTs are on their way." His teeth were gritted against the need to just scoop her up in his arms and carry her away, anywhere. Just away from the smell of cordite, from the sweet iron smell of her blood on his hands.

"I really don't need it."

"Shut up, Stel."

She looked up into his face and shut up obediently, remaining quiet even when the EMTs insisted on transporting her to the hospital for a scan and stitches.

He was forced to put her on the 'bus without him, forced to stay and deal with the hysterical girlfriend who had dropped the gun and hit the floor in a dead faint when she was spattered by Stella's blood. He was forced to deal with the boyfriend who had bolted out of the bathroom when the officers finished clearing the scene. He was forced to Mirandize them, to take them both to the station and see them booked, to try to get what he could out of them before they lawyered up.

He did it all. Every stinking step of his job, done coldly and efficiently, done quickly, done without ever listening to the still shaky beat of his heart, without stopping for a single second to think about what could have happened.

And when it was over, and the girl had broken and the boy had confessed to hitting a child in the street with his car and hiding at his girlfriend's until the pot in his system had disappeared, Flack left the station and drove to the hospital with his lights flashing.

'Detective Bonasera?" He flashed his badge at the young nurse on the desk.

She checked the computer, and pointed down the hallway. He was halfway down before she could get the room number out.

He stopped in front of the right room nonetheless, sure he could sense her, smell her, feel the beat of her heart steadying his.

He could hear Danny laughing, and Lindsay, her voice frustrated, saying, "Stella Bonasera, stay in that bed! The doctor said tomorrow morning."

He closed his eyes in relief. Stella in a fighting mood he could deal with. Lindsay and Danny were a little surplus to requirements, however.

Danny may have been the first to see him standing in the doorway, but he knew Stella had known he was there by the way she carefully did not look at him. "I can take it from here, Detectives," he said gruffly.

For a wonder, they didn't argue. He couldn't even begin to think what he must look like for that miracle to happen. Lindsay kissed Stella and whispered goodbye, squeezing Flack's arm as she went by. Danny kissed Stella as well, carefully on the cheek, and bumped Flack's shoulder as he passed through the door. Flack stood, arms across his chest, leaning in the doorway, his legs trembling.

"Fuck, Stel," the words ghosted through his lips, "I thought …"

Stella reached out a hand to him, and in two steps he was by her side, sitting on the bed when his legs gave out. She wrapped her arms around him, as he shook. He still had blood, her blood, dried on his hands, on his t-shirt under the NYPD jacket he was wearing.

She ran her hands through his hair, and pushed him until she could see his eyes. "Take me home."

He started to shake his head, but she said it again, fierce and quiet. "Take me home."

When they got there, she was white and a little shaky but so was he, and he helped her into the bedroom without a word. She sat down on the bed, and he crouched in front of her and said, "What can I get for you?"

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, hard and deep. And when he opened his eyes and looked into hers to ask if she were sure about this, she said, "Shut up, Don." And she pulled him into her bed.

And he stole the kisses from her mouth and the breath from her lungs, and when she moaned his name into the night, he could have sworn that he heard the whole New York Choral Society singing the Hallelujah Chorus.


	12. Chapter 12: Twelfth Night

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 4: "Child's Play."_

A/N: I know everyone thinks this is the last chapter, but actually this is Twelfth Night – the night before Epiphany (for you Shakespeare fans). Traditionally, it was celebrated by a feast in which the world turned upside down: a Lord of Misrule was chosen to preside while the masters served the slaves (like Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame). So here it is: the night the world turns topsy-turvey!

Thank you so much to my lovely reviewers and readers, to those who have put the story on alert and to those who are just following along. It's been fun and there is one final chapter to go – up tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

On the twelfth day of Christmas: Jan 5

Twelfth Night

"What the hell is going on with your team, Taylor?"

Mac rolled his eyes and turned to face Sinclair. The man had been riding his ass for so long, he could swear there were permanent boot marks.

"Sir."

"Have you seen this?" The irate Chief held out a grainy photo printed from a home computer, his hand shaking with poorly suppressed fury.

Mac glanced down at it, but knew what it was without closer examination. Men who don't sleep spend a lot of time on the Internet, and porn just wasn't his thing. After Adam had introduced him to Second Life, though, Mac had gone on a participatory culture jag, and was currently a bit obsessive about Youtube. He'd seen the video January 1st at 12:42AM.

"Sir?" He kept his voice bored, his face impassive.

"Are those or are those not two of _your _CSIs making out in the middle of Times Square?" Sinclair hissed, his eyes darting from side to side, making sure there were no interested eyes or ears spying on them in the corridor. He would have preferred the privacy of an office, but Taylor was too good at ducking him. He'd been forced to chase him down.

"I don't know, sir." Plausible deniability. God, he hated politics. Didn't make him bad at it, though.

Sinclair growled, literally growled deep in his throat. "This has gone all over the Internet, Taylor. People all over the world watching these two_juveniles_ playing tonsil hockey in uniform …" His voice simply gave out.

Mac thought about the first time he had caught the video. Of course he had recognized Danny and Lindsay – even though the resolution was poor and the light was bad, and it was only a 57 second vid in the first place, he had known them instantly. And when he saw it, saw the tension in the young man's body as he mouthed those words, saw the delight on her face as she finally, finally heard him, saw the way they melted into each other, his throat had closed up.

"Are you sure they are members of the NYPD, sir?"

A trembling meaty finger pointed at the NYPD Crime Scene Investigation logo on the young man's jacket.

"Less than $50 on ebay, sir. Not hard to get ahold of." He struggled to keep his voice from betraying his inner amusement. From what he had heard, and eventually he heard everything, Sinclair had not always been so puritanical about inter-office relationships.

Sinclair stopped a moment, and bit his lip in thought. Then he gave a sharp nod. It would do. If he needed damage control, he could turn this off the NYPD. He turned on his heel, glowering back over his shoulder.

"Keep your team on a short leash, Taylor. You are all on my radar. Got that?"

Mac nodded, and started to walk away.

"Taylor!" Sinclair's voice bounced off the cold glass walls.

"Sir?"

"How is Detective Bonasera?"

"She's good, sir. She's been released and will be back on duty tomorrow." As Flack had informed him when he had phoned Stella's apartment, frantically searching for her after she had flown the hospital's coop. It didn't take a detective to hear the possessive note in the younger man's voice; Mac was being warned off.

But he figured Sinclair really did not want that little piece of good news.

As he went back to his lab, Mac pondered that piece of news himself. He hadn't confronted Danny and Lindsay – they had been together for months now and as far as he could tell, had successfully kept it out of the lab. If she was a bit quicker to worry about him than other members of the team, if he was a bit faster to step in front of her in a dangerous situation – well, Mac couldn't see how it hurt. Neither was likely to allow anyone else into harm's way either. Protection was as natural as breathing to them both.

Don and Stella – that had come with a kick to the gut. It wasn't that he thought of Stella as his in any way; they had long ago tacitly agreed to keep their partnership professional and their friendship platonic. When she had been with Frankie, when she had been pursued by Drew, he had encouraged her, supported her. When, in both cases, it had all gone terribly wrong, he hoped that he had been able to support her again, as a friend should.

Don and she had always had a spark, a little extra tingle in their interactions. Stella was like that, though, he thought with a tired grin. It was hard not to reflect her light. But a relationship between the two detectives had never seemed likely, given – oh, all sorts of things.

Even Mac Taylor could get it wrong.

He picked up some files in his office and made his way to the morgue, where Sid Hammerback was waiting to give him some results. He flipped through the files casually, then put his head back against the elevator wall and closed his eyes for the brief ride down.

_Flack and Stella_, he thought again. _Messer and Monroe. I feel like I'm running a dating service, not a crime investigation team. And I can't say or do anything. Damn it, they all deserve a life. Something outside of this lab, this twisted way of seeing the worst, searching for the worst in people. _

The elevator slowed and he stood alert again, Detective Mac Taylor in charge. But under the stoic face, his thoughts continued to race.

_Maybe it is time to give in, buy out my pension, and find a new gig. Teaching, maybe, or writing. Take the band on the road. Maybe it's time to leave the lab and take a breath of fresh air. Everything feels distorted, like I'm fighting the wrong battles._

The elevator doors opened on the morgue, and through them Mac could see a woman with long dark hair, talking earnestly to Sid Hammerback, who was holding her hand and grinning widely. Sid caught sight of him, and motioned him over, and the woman turned, deep blue eyes glowing with joy, full lips tilted in a sweet smile.

And his world shivered, and turned upright once more.


	13. Chapter 13: Fiera della Befana

**Twelve Days of Christmas CSI:NY**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: This is the final chapter, and my last chance to say thank you to all the people who have been reading the story, who have been putting it on alerts, and especially all who have been leaving reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the comments, the questions, and even the complaints! I always gain something from the people who tell me what they like, hate, or want to see happen.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _CSI:NY _are the intellectual property of their creators and CBS TV.

* * *

The Feast of Epiphany: January 6

Fiera della Befana

_Online-Dictionary - epiphany: A sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience._

"Are you sure about this, Danny?"

"What do you mean – am I sure? Of course I am." Leaning on the railing of the ferry motoring on its way to Staten Island, Danny looked at Lindsay over his shoulder. "They'll love you, Montana. Don't even worry about it."

Lindsay nervously pushed her hands through her hair again, trying to keep it from getting irretrievably tangled in the wind. She tugged her coat a little closer around her, pulling her scarf over her ears.

Danny watched her out of the corner of his eye with some amusement. Lindsay usually showed her nerves by talking, spewing out facts and trivia like a Jeopardy champ. But standing out on the deck of the ferry, as he preferred, was cold and talking was a little difficult, even for a girl from Montana.

He stared out at the New York skyline, lighting up the night sky. He loved this city. He reached out and gathered Lindsay in beside him, dropping a kiss on her head before he began pointing out his own personal landmarks, talking quietly into her ear until he felt her settle against him, relaxing slowly into his warmth.

"Umm, Lindsay?"

"What?"

"I just wanted to warn you …"

She pulled away swiftly, slapping a hand against his chest. "I knew it," she groaned. "You didn't tell your mother I was coming. Danny, how could you?" She pushed him again, and he grabbed her hand, chuckling.

"Relax, Montana. Of course I told her you were coming. I just haven't explained Fiera della Befana to you."

Her stiff body loosened just enough for him to pull her tightly against him, but she still glared at him suspiciously. "What is Fiera della Befana?"

"Italian Christmas. Epiphany – the day the Magi found the stable and gave their gifts to the Christ child." He looked at Lindsay sideways, half-expecting her to laugh. But she was nodding seriously, and he went on.

"We take down the tree and decorations. And someone in the neighbourhood always opens house to everyone else, but everyone brings food. You know Stella's Vassilopitta?"

She nodded, sliding her hands under his jacket to warm her fingers.

"We decorate a Kings' Cake – with a bean or a charm baked into it for the King and Queen of the Feast. The kids all want that piece, because it means they get to boss everyone else around." He closed his eyes and breathed her in.

"Food. There's lots of food and wine and lots of noise. We're going to the Amidoris' house this year, and they have ten kids. Plus 22 grandkids the last time I saw them. Probably more by now." Danny's voice was contemplative.

"A sore spot with Mrs. Messer," Lindsay thought, and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"And the kids play out the story of Befana, an old woman who refused to go with the Magi because her house wasn't clean. Then she followed them later, but couldn't find the Baby. So she leaves gifts for any child she comes across, in case it is the one she is looking for." His voice slowed a little.

Lindsay looked at him in shock. "You mean – you exchange gifts? Danny! I don't have anything for your mother. How could you not tell me?" She could feel her stomach clench. Of all the mistakes to make the first time you met someone's mother, this had to be the biggest. She had a bottle of wine, carefully selected with Flack's advice, but that – that was just a hostess gift. Not a Befana gift.

Danny tightened his grip. "That's what I am trying to tell you, Montana. I thought a lot about what you said."

"What? What did I say?" Lindsay's mind was going a mile a minute, trying to figure out what they could pick up on their way to the Messers' house that wouldn't look like something she had grabbed on her way to the house.

"Lindsay. Listen to me." Danny wrapped his hands around her face, forcing her to look into his eyes, forcing her racing mind to go still.

"You. You're the gift I am taking my mother for Fiera della Befana."

She stared at him, her mouth open in shock.

"Do you understand?"

Slowly, she nodded, closing her eyes.

He wiped her tears away with his thumbs, covering her mouth with his as the ferry docked at the St George terminal.

And when the door opened at the Messer household, he put an arm around her and one around his mother and said, "Mama, I'd like you to meet Lindsay Monroe. My Montana."

And from the smile that lit his face, from the tears in his mother's eyes when she pulled Lindsay into her arms, from the warm feeling that filled Lindsay, it was enough.

Just that. Messer and his Montana.

More than enough.


End file.
